


Processing Things

by WaldosAkimbo



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Barely but just in case, F/M, Fingering, Fumbling, Gamora needs to be in control, Knifeplay, Peter might have found a new kink?, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, and woops, cute and awkward, share your feelings guys, straight up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 05:44:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13698054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaldosAkimbo/pseuds/WaldosAkimbo
Summary: This is a bad idea.Peter is trying to figure out how to make an unspoken thing into an actual reality. But, when a quick little visit to a freakin' funeral goes south, Gamora is the one who is looking to relieve some tension.





	Processing Things

**Author's Note:**

> I gift you all some porn. There is nothing else to this. But I do have to thank the 99th Ravagers and specifically Write-Like-An-American simply for the image of Gamora pulling a knife on Peter during sex. Too good to ignore it, seriously.

They didn’t have a ton of space available to be alone, like, truly alone whenever they went out on the Milano. And it was always _all_ of them. Always.

You couldn’t convince Rocket to stay back on the Quadrant with Yondu and Kraglin, even if he had more room to tinker with those stolen Shi’ar processors or, hell, entertain Groot in that smelly hell hole of a room he loved so much—they were going to need to have another talk with him. Keeping the heat up is one thing. Trashing the place with vines? Also acceptable. Barely, but acceptable. The swamp was drawing a line.

You couldn’t tell Drax that there wasn’t a mission, that they were all safe and coming back, and that, like, _go sharpen your weapons, man. Blow off some steam. No, not…it means chill. Not like that either! Take a_ chill _. Well, I’ve said it a hundred times before, why can’t he get it now?  We’ll bring you alcohol to put in your body; remember how you liked that? No? Okay, well, stop yelling at me._ That sort’ve thing.

Mantis was easy. She’d go wherever Drax went. Or wherever Peter went. She liked being the glue that held them together, even though Peter had claimed that title, thank you very much, and he was the best at it so, like, stop stepping on toes! No, that wasn’t the actual argument. He got distracted.

So, like, Date Night was almost impossible. At least Rocket was driving right now, but he didn’t even need to _be_ there! That was the whole point! And Drax had insulted the ministry and Manits, oh my god. Mantis! At a _funeral,_ no less!

Okay, fine, it wasn’t actually Date Night, but, c’mon.

“That was stupid and reckless!” Gamora shouted as they went into the little bedroom that was an offshoot of the cargo hold. Quill’s room. Master bedroom by the sole right that it was the only bedroom and he was the master of the ship. Well, not like that. Not like they were his _slaves_ or something. Or like….

“Sorry, what?” Quill looked up from his little scrambled reverie. His hands were on his hips and he was unconsciously pawing at his belt for his Walkman. It was a muscle memory reaction to stress and always pissed him off when he remembered that it was gone. Forever gone. Yeah, of course he had the Zune, but he had plugged that into the Milano’s sound system the second they were back on board because, like, they all needed some tunes right then. Tensions were high. Chill _out_ , Drax. He pinched his hand back to his thigh again and tightened his jaw. “Right. Stupid. Always.”

“It is always like this!” Gamora was unbuckling the fitted greaves she wore, leather armguards that came undone easily and protected her a few times when she was hacking up that drudge-headed asshole dude outside the monastery. Things had not gone well, is the point. “Your diplomacy is abysmal. Your military instincts are short-sided at best. A man died today and that should have been the celebration! Not—”

“Yeah, I get it!” Quill pinched his leg tighter, shaking his head at the ground. “Look, I know it was supposed to just be the ceremony for that Giglar guy, but, like….” Peter sighed, defeated, as he sank down onto the bed. He didn’t even have the energy to make a joke about “Giglar the Giggler,” which was so damn easy. The guy was A’askavarian. He had all those tentacles. It was like the joke was begging to be made, but he couldn’t figure out the sequence right. He slumped over his knees, holding his useless hands together. “I’m sorry you had to kill someone for me. Again.”

“Listen,” she said, still firm, but at least lowering her volume. “I know things have been stressful and I know there are still many things that need to be processed.” She didn’t say “the death of Ego” or “we all saw you use the Light earlier and we need to figure out what that means” or even “you need to sit down and have an actual conversation with your father at some point, of course I mean Yondu.” She didn’t have to say any of those things.

There was another rattle as she removed some weaponry and dropped it to the floor without any ceremony to it whatsoever. Then something like fabric fell. Quill sat up a little without turning around.

“Yeah. Sure. Grieving for ol’ Giggler,” Quill said to the wall. “Something with a fan dance for his service….” He groaned and put his head in his hands as he turned around to face her. “Gamora, I swear, there’s a joke somewhere because you don’t have a shirt on.”

The words tumbled out before he had a chance to stop them. Gamora smiled, like a real honest smile, which she sometimes snuck in for him or for herself or, like, obviously for herself, obviously, it was her body and it looked so good. Peter blinked, expecting it to be a mirage. And yet? There she stood, with her slender hands on hips that were only covered by sensible and yet goddamn good-looking underwear. They were black, he noticed. Well, sure. Matched her usual outfit. Blend in. Hid blood, which…or stop thinking about it? Stop thinking about it. Right. His eyes skipped up from the ringed fingers and the bra that was more chamois than bra, actually, like it almost covered the cutest belly button he had ever seen, and yeah, fine, he looked all the way up to her face.

“What?” she asked, schooling her features. She tapped her fingers a few times, clinking a pair of rings on index and middle finger. “Peter, say something or I will end you.”

“No, just….” He smiled, bringing his leg up so he could face her more. He couldn’t help the little cheeky smirk, though. “You look really good?”

“Thank you.” Gamora closed her eyes, bouncing up on her toes a little. “This has been…a stressful time for all of us. For you. All of us, actually, I stand by that.” She sighed and settled back onto her feet. “I find that…intimacy can be a good way to process.”

She finished her sentence in a rush of words before she opened her eyes to look at him. And he realized, then, that Gamora, this crazy hot deadly assassin and daughter of Ugly Thumb Super Asshole Thanos was…nervous? Peter held out a hand, beckoning her closer.

“This was a stupid idea,” she said, crossing her arms.

“No, it wasn’t.” Peter raised his hand a little higher. “You have to stop saying that.”

“What?”

“That everything is stupid. We get it.” He rolled his eyes and laughed. “You’re smarter than everybody and we’re all just big oafs. Stop being so hard on yourself.”

Gamora pouted in a way that was only good on a woman like her. She’d hate that he thought that, but maybe not? She was here. She looked down, pushing magenta curls off her shoulder—how in the hell was it fair that her hair just grew like that? It was amazing! She was amazing! He wanted to tell her these things a million times over, just, not yet. There was something very precarious about the moment, and, for a change, Peter kept his big dumb mouth shut. Gamora lifted a leg and started to straddle the bed as she took his hand.

“I like my standards,” she said, hardly loud enough for him to hear, even in such a small space.

“Yeah. We know.”

“I believe you should have standards as well.”

“My standards are, like, right here.” He held his hand up to his hip. “Here, maybe. I can go higher, but that’s really pushing it, Gamora. You ask a lot from me.”

“I _can_ ask, though.”

Quill chuckled, daring to put an arm around her torso and pulling her closer, like they did when they were dancing. It was easier this way, for both of them, as he fit their bodies together and started to sway on the sheets. Thank god he’d changed them recently. Not that he, like, wasn’t hygienic. Compared to his youth, he was medi-grade sterile in every aspect he could afford. He made jokes about jerking off all over and, alright, puberty happened, but he was better about taking care of things now. Jackson Pollok was no longer his inspiration for decorating, let’s put it that way.

Holy shit, she smelled so good when she rested her head on his shoulder. Quill smiled, sliding his hand into hers. Just like dancing. Except this time, Gamora shifted a thigh across his and gently pushed him back down onto the mattress. “Oh, uh, I can—”

“You cannot and I would like it very much if you didn’t,” she said, gently placing three fingers over his mouth to shut him up. Peter nodded, biting his lips together as Gamora ran her other hand under his shirt. His stomach hitched at the contact. “Please relax,” she said, almost as much a plea to herself as it was for him.

“I am so relaxed,” he said around her hand. She turned an annoyed look at him and he shrugged. “Sorry.”

Her hand was warm and firm, a flat palm that went from his stomach up to his chest, pushing the shirt closer to his neck. Gamora’s eyes were half-lidded as she kept her attention there, resting her hand over his heart. He tried hard to keep breathing evenly, as she had asked him ever so nicely. His tongue ran back and forth behind his teeth, a jailer rattling the cell and asking to be let out.

“How much do you like this shirt,” she asked, still staring intently at the softest part of his neck, right where it met at the center of his collar bones. She could stab him there with her thumb if she wanted, which she proved by lowering her hand from his mouth and letting it rest there. Not choking him, although, c’mon, wouldn’t that be hot? No, focus, Quill.

“Uh, this shirt?” he asked slowly, lowering his chin to look down. He didn’t even see the shirt, honestly. He saw her green thighs pressed on both sides of him, and the gentle curve of her hips. He saw her arms and her shoulders and the little cleavage like an arrow drawing him in. “It’s okay, I guess.”

“I’m going to tear it,” she announced.

Peter swallowed. “Okay…?”

“Then you agree?”

Peter just nodded. Gamora grabbed a fistful of his shirt, the other shifting underneath, and she tore it quickly down the center. Peter gave a short yelp of surprise, bucking his hips up against her when he realized what she was actually doing.

“Whoa, whoa, wait!”

“What?”

“You ripped my shirt!”

“Yes, and I asked first,” she answered, still holding the fabric in her fists. “And you agreed.”

“Yeah, but….” Peter grabbed her wrists so she would let go of his shirt. She did, eventually wiggling the fabric between her fingers. “I mean I did. Sorry. It just…it surprised me.” It wasn’t one of his favorite shirts, at least, but it wasn’t like he had a lot of options in his wardrobe. He rubbed his thumb across her skin, smiling, settling back down. “Sorry. It’s fine. You’re doing great.”

“Let go of my hands,” she said quietly, looking him in the eyes. He didn’t tighten his grip, but he didn’t let go either. “Peter. Let go of my hands.”

“I dunno. You gonna tear off these pants too?” He moved his hips back and forth on the bed. “Because, yes, those are my favorite pants and I would like them to remain in—hey!”

It was quick. He forgot how fast she could be, honestly. She broke free only to shove his hands up above his head and slammed them down into the pillow. He was afraid, for a moment at least, that he had really screwed up the whole thing and she was going to straight-up headbutt him. Like he squeezed his eyes together and just waited for the terrible headache to follow. It didn’t. She stayed there a moment and waited for him to open his eyes.

“This is about trust,” she said when he did.

“Yeah.” Peter clenched his fists underneath her grasp and then let the tension go. He smiled up at her. “I get it. Trust. I’m paying attention.”

“Please do.”  

The only upside to this was that it gave him a goddamn great view of her breasts, which he didn’t even have time to admire before she settled back.

Gamora found the straps to his belt and undid them, yanking his pants down across his thighs. Peter grunted out a short outburst, not a yelp. No, no yelping. This was trust. But he did definitely reach for his pants again, holding up the waistband of his briefs instead. She was crouched over him, low enough that she could see his small, almost harmless looking scars now. Before asking or thinking or worrying about what it might mean, Gamora pressed her lips to the white puckered mark on his ribs where some former lover had bit him. It was so unexpectant, so soft that Peter swallowed all his complaints. He held his breath, caught up in the warmth of her. He started to reach for her when she shifted again, grabbing his hands.

“No, I mean, I was….”

Gamora shook her head. She didn’t say it, but her fierce stare told him to relax again. Don’t reach. Don’t touch without permission. He nodded, letting his muscles go lax. Gamora started to unthaw and brought his palm up to her mouth, gently grazing her teeth across the tender skin of his wrist.

It wasn’t long before Peter was able to kick off his pants the rest of the way, tossing them onto the pile with Gamora’s items right beside the bed. He kept his hands up where she could see them when he was done, grinning his encouragement.

“Listen, if this is your first time, I g—”

“It is not my first time,” she answered firmly, and pushed on his chest so he would lay down again. “Hardly, in fact.”

“Do I want to know a number here, or….?”

Gamora grabbed the bottom of her short chamois and tugged it off her shoulders. It was a supple line, belly button, the patterns carved into her from what Peter didn’t know, like tattoos but more, and up to pale green breasts he literally only had a chance to dream about. Yeah, he dreamed about it. She was arching her back to shake out her hair in a soft cascade before she smirked, watching his face again.

“Do I want to know your numbers?”

“Uh.” Peter stared. Short circuit in the brain. “Uh, no. No, I don’t even…uh….”

“Peter.” Gamora crawled forwards so she could lower herself atop him, rubbing a touch of friction between them. He shivered out a low moan before he clapped his mouth shut. “Tell me this is alright.”

“More than alright,” he said, sitting up despite all proof that she definitely wanted him to be the one laying down. “Is this alright for you?”

Suddenly he felt like a fumbling teenager who was trying out his first bot thanks to a badly timed present from Yondu. He hated to feel awkward or if Gamora was uncomfortable. Part of him wondered, _y’know, why does it matter? How many chicks have been on this ship? And I didn’t even have to pay for them! They just wanted to sleep with me because, I mean, who wouldn’t?_ But that started to inch way too close to what his father had done. His “biological” father, at least. You know what, Yondu, probably too, that old fucker and…or…well, he had Kraglin. Jeeze, boner killer. Peter wrinkled his nose and hid his disgust by pulling Gamora against him again.

“Hey,” he said quietly, smiling up at her as she tucked her arms in between them. “It’s just like dancing, right?”

“Yes.” She leaned in and brushed her nose against his. “And if you tell anyone…?”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with a fun new way to kill me. I know.”

It was a joke, but Gamora closed the space between them, pressing their mouths together hard enough to hurt. She snaked an arm up around his neck, the other slipping down his bicep and guided his hand away from her back. She entwined their fingers, moaning low into her kiss, fighting to break through. Peter opened his mouth and let her dig at him. He ran fingers through her soft hair, meeting every roll of her hips, up and down until he realized she was laying him back onto the mattress. This was his spot, apparently. He had to laugh. He had to. Or, no he didn’t. He lapped at her, breathing in hot, sticky, almost sweet flavors before he realized she was running a finger beneath the hem of his underwear.

Peter pulled back, just a little, to look at her. Eyes closed, concentrating, pouting as he broke the kiss. “You can’t tear those,” he said quietly, firmly. She opened her eyes and grinned, biting on her tongue. “Gamora, I’m serious. Don’t.”

Gamora turned her head to the side before she kissed him again. He had asked, in his way, so she worked her fingers around his hips and tugged him free of them, pushing them down to his knees. He returned the favor, swiping his hands under the band of her own, pausing on her hips to rub circles over the bone. She flexed, leaning back to give him more room, and grabbed onto his shins.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, sliding them down slowly, like he was unwrapping her and afraid to tear anything. Not that she wasn’t. “You’re so beautiful. I mean. God.”

She gave a soft hum and pulled her legs up so he could finish undressing her. No easy task when one random tug of his hand would have her breaking his wrist or something. But it was worth it. He figured this was all worth it. The fact that she could kill him was somehow not a deterrent. Opposite reaction, in fact.

Peter licked his lips, flicking her sensible black underwear away and took her hips again. Not to pull her down on him, no. No. Gamora needed foreplay. She needed worshiping and words and he was pushing the flat palm of his hand up her stomach, climbing as she sat up until he cupped her breast. He smiled when she did, massaging her before he rolled a dark, bruised colored nipple between his fingers. It raised to attention under his thumb and index while she tightened her features. A sensitive spot, it seemed. She gripped his forearm again, but didn’t yank him away this time. Just held it to steady herself.

The only thing he could even think to say was, “You’re so beautiful,” but it started to feel rubbery and weird in his mouth, so he just shut up. Dug his thumb into her hip instead, sneaking along her thigh where it was touching his own. She was moving her hips more, circling them above him in a rhythm.

“I…can I touch you?” he asked, eyebrows screwed down after he did.

She bobbed her head, busy with his hand on her chest, her hips grinding down with greater need. Okay, that was a real treat. Gamora didn’t ever show need, but the little almost whimpering sounds she was making was driving him mad.

Peter kept turning her nipple between his fingers a little before he switched hands, trading them effortlessly while she was distracted. He was free to slip a finger down across her slick opening. She was so warm, and she clenched against his fingertip, squeezing her thighs together.

His throat was thick and he had to swallow again before he could ask, “Is this alright?”

They were, if anything, fumbling. Finding. Figuring it out. It felt awkward, but it felt wonderful, too.

“Yes.” Gamora had to push the word out, her neck taught.

Peter circled his finger, rubbing across her small, wet clit. Every noise he milked out of her made his stomach tighten and he felt a burning line down to his erection, trying to ignore it. Instead, he moved across her slit, dragging his fingers back up before he curled one inside of her, flexing in a come-hither motion. Gamora dug her fingers into his forearm, leaning down across him. He paused as she took his hand off her breast and bit his index finger, not enough to hurt, but enough to ground him. Herself. He wasn’t sure. She raised her hips, glistening thighs shaking ever so slightly, and he took the small amount of space to add a second finger, twirling his thumb across her clit.

“Ever loving _b’kla staflim to gl’sta_ ,” she moaned quickly, putting indents into Peter’s finger.

It was amazing his translator didn’t pick up the phrase, and he smiled just before he winced at the pressure on his fingers. He wanted to ask what the hell she had said, but now wasn’t the time.

“Don’t break. My fingers.” Peter was sliding his fingers in and out of her, faster now that she was pumping her hips with the action. Gamora bit his fingers, hard, and he shouted at the pain before she sucked on them, her eyes mischievous and playful. He grinned back. “Oh, fuck it, I don’t care.”

Soon she was practically bouncing on him, using his hand to grind herself to an orgasm. She suckled his fingers and whimpered, bucking on top of him until there was a short catch in her breathe. No cry, no loud proclamation, just a little whimper against his knuckles, his fingers wet in her mouth, his fingers wet beneath her, before she fell atop him, her folds fluttering around his digits, drawing him closer.

Peter nearly came undone. He gasped, holding her, curling his hand to ride out her orgasm with her. She stayed low, covering his chest. Her hips started to slow down and she could make out short almost-words.

“You’re alright,” Peter said softly, shifting his leg up a little as her ass bumped back down against him. He didn’t try to think too hard on how his dick was nestled in so perfectly that it hurt. “You’re so amazing. I don’t. No words.” Words were so fucking hard right now. Or he was. God, shut _up_. “Amazing. Like. I can’t….”

Gamora was panting when she pushed herself up again, her hands flat on his stomach. She looked so perfectly disheveled, hair in loose, unkempt curls, face flushed a darker green. If he curled his chin down, he could see the shiny slick on his abdomen and hips. He was doing everything to keep his breathing even while she settled on him. Caught her breathe. Focused her eyes some. He tempted her, moving his fingers again and she hissed, raking her fingers across his chest, but not pulling away.

“I. Uh. T-T-Talk to me.” Peter chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Please?”

“You talk so much,” she answered, her voice low. Almost husky, even. God, how could he literally love her more? “You always talk so much.”

“I. I know.” He gave a short, forced laugh. “It’s a problem.”

“It is not a problem,” she shot back petulantly. “It’s that our words don’t match up. I don’t understand things that you say when you take from your past and you don’t understand what I say.”

“Like that stuff you were muttering earlier?”

Gamora just smiled, pulling her chin down so her hair covered her face.

“Did I take advantage of you, Quill?” she asked, looking at her shoulder.

“Advantage?” Peter sat up when she used his last name. It was a familiarity and a distancing gesture all in the same single-syllable word. “No. C’mon. This was, like.” He floundered for the words, rubbing her thigh while he thought. She smiled, scratching lightly at his forearm still trapped between them. “Oh, god, sorry. Sorry, I—”

“It’s alright, you don’t—”

“No, I mean, hold on. I’ll—”

“Peter.”

Quill sat up to hold Gamora as he started to pull himself out of her. He moved his hand slowly, the rest of him too fast, tipping Gamora’s balance until she was leaning back against his knee. She gripped his shoulders painfully then and shoved him back down, holding a knife to his throat. Peter didn’t even register where she had pulled it from—he should have guessed she would always have one within reach; tucked under the mattress, left on the bedding. There was even one strapped to the ceiling if he looked up past her—just that the blade was close enough to nick his skin. There was a tiny, hot spot of pain and then wet from the little trickle of blood and Gamora leaning over him with fire in her eyes. He didn’t register the fear, just the control, the precision.

Peter came instantly.

“Oh my god.” Peter stared at the ceiling. Holy shit, there was a knife up there. He stared at the ceiling, the knife, his body going from uncontrollable convulsions through a surprised orgasm to dead weight. He was so damn embarrassed, he wanted to melt into the mattress and die there. Not that he could die, maybe. Maybe. That was something they were processing. He closed his eyes and promptly covered them with his hands to blot out any green skin or soft brown hair or a damn knife strapped to his ceiling. “Oh my god.”

“Peter,” Gamora said softly. She had pulled up on the knife. Not tossed it aside or anything, no. But it wasn’t actively cutting him anymore. “It’s okay.”

“Oh my _god_.”

“Please open your eyes.”

“Oh my god, though.”

“Yes, stop saying that.”

Gamora pried Peter’s hands easily from his eyes, even while holding onto a knife. His face was beat red, a blush that travelled all the way down to his chest and into his hairline. He opened his eyes to see her smiling.

“I am so so _so_ sorry,” he said quickly, but she covered his mouth again, three fingers, gentle as can be.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. She knelt and kissed his burning cheek. Peter almost laughed, almost cried, so she brushed her fingers softly through his hair to soothe him. “Unexpected. But okay.”

“Like, I don’t think that’s ever happened before?”

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Gamora said fondly, shifting her weight again.

She truly didn’t seem to mind any of the mess as she laid down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder, her hand on his chest. Peter breathed out a sigh of relief as he took the hand. This part? Cuddling? Not something he was used to. Sleeping piles happened all the time, like, but that’s a bunch of people all snoring and grabbing on each other and, anyways, they went off to cabins and brothels and, like, their own m-ships to have sex back when he was a Ravager and Ravagers don’t cuddle. But he wasn’t a Ravager. He was a Guardian of the freakin’ Galaxy, man, and he was with Gamora and it all felt natural, at least. Fitting pieces together. He smiled and shifted his hips.

“You’re going to put away the knife now, right?” he asked, still looking at the ceiling. There was a soft clank behind Gamora’s back as she dropped it off the side of the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed and I hope those two idiots take a shower soon. Let's pretend they did. Yay!


End file.
